A/N: Many sorries for the delay.

~ Growing Up ~

Chapter Thirteen

Mary spent the following days confined to her room, and the servants told him that she had asked that no one should disturb her, not even Master Colin. In that way she put an end to any plans he had of the two of them spending time together in Dickon's absence. Not that it would have made any difference – it was obvious that she hated him and never wanted to speak to him again. Colin grew progressively more miserable as the time passed and she did not emerge. He shut himself up in the library and spent most of the time at a seat by the window, staring out across the moor and growing more and more consumed with jealousy.

The rain worsened steadily throughout that day and the next, so that by Wednesday afternoon it was impossible to see more than a few feet onto the moor through the downpour, and the wind was howling around the manor almost viciously. Colin felt his thoughts darkening, until it seemed that he was once more that sickly little boy, shut up in a dim room searching for lumps on his back. As though the years of sunlight and happiness had never happened.

It was well and truly dark by the time of Dickon's return. Colin almost didn't spot him, the faint glow of a lantern bobbing through the rain and fog. When he did, he leapt out of his chair and went off in search of a servant. The first one he found was Martha.

"Martha!" he called out, startling the girl so much she nearly dropped the pile of laundered sheets she was carrying.

"Y-yes, my Lord," she stammered, evidently nervous and not meeting his gaze. Colin wondered if word of his snapping at the breakfast maid had reached the servants' gossip hall – it seemed likely, given Martha's reaction.

"Your brother is almost back," he said. "He's soaked to the bone, no doubt. Find some dry clothes for him to change into, and then send him up to the library, would you?"

Martha looked confused, but she didn't question him, just bobbed a polite curtsey and hurried off. Colin sighed and went back to the library to wait.

It wasn't long before there was a soft knock on the door and Dickon entered. He had been given a fresh change of clothes, but his hair was still wet and there was a freshness to his cheeks that spoke of a long walk through the rain. He smiled at Colin as he made his way over to him through the rows of books.

"Eh, s'good t' see tha'," he said easily. "I've had a righ' walk, I 'ave."

Colin secretly marvelled at Dickon's ability to find joy out of the most miserable situations. He wished he had that sort of temperament.

"I feel terrible," he said bluntly, deciding not to beat around the bush.

Dickon blinked and his eyes widened in confusion. "Are thee sick?" he asked, genuine concern in his voice. "Tha' looks well enow."

"No I'm not sick," he said impatiently. "I feel terrible. Mentally."

There was a long silence, before Dickon finally spoke. "Why?"

"Did you like the cottage?" Colin asked instead of answering him.

Dickon's face instantly brightened. "Eh, but it is lovely. S'on th' edge o' th' moor, an' there's a pretty little wood righ' by it, an' a creek where all th' wild things've been buildin' their nests, an' it's no' in tha' bad a shape at all. Why, if I – "

"I've no intention of buying it," said Colin roughly, cutting off Dickon's excited monologue.

The enthusiasm on Dickon's face dimmed, and he looked confused again. "Why no'? Tha' doesn' like th' sound of it?"

"It sounds lovely," sighed Colin. He ran a hand through his hair and stared out at the moor, which was by this time nothing but a cloak of darkness. "But I was never interested in it. I only sent you all that distance to get you out of the way for a few days."

He looked over at Dickon to gauge the other boy's reaction to this news. Dickon looked confused and hurt, as though such a possibility had never occurred to him. Of course it hadn't, thought Colin bitterly. Dickon was far too positive to think such terrible things of his friend. Colin doubted he had ever thought ill of anyone in his life, such was his nature. An angel, Mary had called him once. For some reason this only made Colin resent him further.

"Eh-h-h," Dickon said at last, shoving his hands into his pockets. "Why would tha' wan' me out o' th' way?" But the way he asked the question told Colin he was beginning to understand.

"Mary's been avoiding me this whole time," said Colin with a fake smile. "So you see, it was all for nothing anyway."

Dickon was looking wary now. "Colin…"

"Oh don't bother, Dickon!" he snapped. "She's chosen you. It's blatantly obvious."

"She hasn't – " Dickon seemed to be struggling to find the right words. His blue eyes swept the rows of books as though searching for inspiration. "We haven't – "

"I can't understand it, myself," said Colin bitterly. "I mean – what on earth can you possibly give her? A cottage on the moor filled with wild animals and screaming children? A babe in the belly each summer and never enough money to feed and clothe them all?"

There was a flash of pain in Dickon's eyes, but Colin ignored it. Now that he'd started speaking he couldn't stop, the words spilling like some kind of vile poison from his mouth.

"When you think of everything I could give her – trips around the world, the finest gowns, high society balls, visits to the theatre, a life of beauty and comfort! Doesn't it seem absurd that she would throw all that away– her birth right – to go and roll around in the mud with some – some common moor boy who can barely spell his own name!"

For a long time neither of them spoke. Colin was breathing heavily, his gut churning in nervous energy. Dickon was quite the opposite – he seemed to have shrunk, his shoulders deflating so that he appeared quite different from the boisterous young man he normally was.

"I didn' know tha' felt this way," he said at last, very quietly.

Colin gave a violent shrug.

"She's to leave for London with me," he felt the need to point out. "For at least two years. Hopefully the time apart will knock some sense into her, and she'll come to realise all she would be giving up by marrying you." He stared out the window, drumming his fingers restlessly against the wood. "She's not meant for you, Dickon. You should have realised that years ago."

The silence stretched again, stifling and heavy, and as it did the guilt began to gnaw at Colin's insides. He felt wretched, and his mouth felt dirty, as though his body was physically rejecting the poisonous things his mind had been making him say. His hands clenched into fists and he closed his eyes, breathing hard. How could he speak to Dickon like that? Was he some kind of monster? Without Dickon he'd likely still be lying on his back in a dark room, screaming and throwing tantrums and imagining his own death. Everything he had, he owed to this friendly, good-hearted Yorkshire lad, a boy that hadn't shunned him because he was sickly and spoilt and ignorant, but had brought him into the light and showed him life could be worth living. And now here he was treating him like…like a jealous cad. No wonder Mary looked at him with such disgust.

"Dickon I – " he lifted his head to apologise, but broke off when he realised the older boy was no longer there. Dickon was gone.

A/N: Hope you enjoyed it. I promise the next update won't take so long!